Branded
by roflZuko
Summary: When Ozai gave his son a scar, Zuko was scared stiff. Now, even after the war has been one and the Agni Kai left far behind... The scar gives Zuko a newer, stranger sort of fright.


Tears blurred his father's image. Zuko was terrified. He had kowtowed-that's what he was supposed to do. He had surrendered. This was all a big mistake. Father had to see that-couldn't he see how sorry Zuko was?

Fearful.

With a jolt of horror, the boy realized he was crying. Royalty did not cry, and royalty _never _cried in front of their people. Tears were weakness. Tears were failure and cowardice and everything that was making Father's calm frown twist down a little more. Cold fear ran through Zuko's blood as he finished tipping his face up. He met his father's eyes and trembled, just as one hand began to rise. All these thoughts in a handful of seconds.

"You will learn respect. And suffering will be your teacher."

What did that mean? A thousand eyes were on the young prince, but he could only see the eyes of his father. His Fire Lord. When the cool gold tinted with orange, he knew. Time slowed, and he knew when the heat began to build. Zuko could only stare.

No. Father wouldn't do this. Father wouldn't…

Father would. What Father _wouldn't _do was let him off lightly for disrespecting the Fire Lord's war room. The rickety general. Father.

Ozai's palm raised, sending a burst of flame into the air. Less than a second since he'd last spoken. No time to move. No will to move.

Helpless. Scared.

Zuko's eyes widened as the palm turned into a fist awash with fire. It flared white and smoothed, wrapping to sheath Father's arm to the elbow. The fist came down.

The heat on pale skin grew unbearable. The prince was entranced in a sickening way, unable to turn his head. Brilliant light filled his vision.

At the last possible instant, Zuko couldn't look anymore. The crown prince slammed his eyes shut a heartbeat before the world exploded. He could see the fire-_feel_ it and _hear_ it as it consumed every thought he'd had. It burned into his mind and sent his head knocking into the stage when he fell.

And someone was screaming. It was horrendous. Sheer agony, over and over again, that only grew louder until he was sure the screamer was shrieking their throat bloody.

Oh. It was him.

And his face was on _fire._

It wasn't the force of the blow that knocked the prince out after all. It was the complete, searing pain that tore across his face and mind. It was that pain that made him wretch and black out almost in time to not hear the next words. It made no difference, though. Zuko wasn't capable of really understanding any of it.

* * *

"No, not yet," Ozai told the frantic doctor. The man's eyes goggled behind those hideous, thick glasses, only fueling the fire lord's resolve. Straightening, the firebender shook the flames from his fist and scowled at the convulsing boy. "It needs to scar properly."

And no one in the crowd disagreed. At least, that they said out loud. And why would they? Some went so far to smile at the display. Azula and that position-grabbing man among them.

Iroh kept his head turned. Wise man.

If he had protested, Ozai would have answered with another blow to the failure in front of him.

Cold satisfaction and fury blazed and frosted in the man all at once. At the last second, Zuko had shamed him yet again.

Closing his eyes like a common coward.

He raised his hand passively, and Doctor Shun rushed onto the stage, a bottle spilling from his pack in the haste. Yes. His son would probably keep his sight because he had closed his eyes and looked down-just a little.

Fine. The Fire Lord turned his back on the whole spectacle and strode away.

Zuko could look at his lesson in every mirror, every lake, every sea, good plate and nightmare he came across for the rest of his life. And while Ozai couldn't force mirrors on the boy, the ocean, his son would see much of. Very soon.

* * *

It had been five years since his scarring, and Fire Lord Zuko still woke up in cold sweats from nightmares about it. Not very frequent now, and visiting less often all the time. The sweating and shortness of breath would vanish all at once when the young man remembered: The war was over. His people were better off. His people were thriving and not cheering at his on-stage death or burning. He had friends. He had family. And now, a newer reason to shake away the nightmare. A reason that gave him a different kind of fright.

Zuko shivered in the quiet dark and pushed back the thin blanket of his bed. The floor was still there, firm and solid in the blackness, when he swung his feet over the edge to check. One more reason to be happy sent a brief chill through him. It made his heart beat a little faster.

The only sounds were his quiet steps to a small table, and then the _fwip _of a candle being lit. The small light cast the entire space into dim view.

Zuko stayed fixated on the mirror in front of him. On the left side of his face. Slowly, he reached to touch the scar.

Smooth, but ridged. Harder than the rest of his skin. He could sort of feel the touch since the pressure pulled on the whole flesh beneath the wound too.

It was ugly. His left eye would never fully open again. And if he followed the little ridges and pushed back his hair… He could see malformed shape of his withered ear.

Katara had touched his scar once-just flat out laid her hand across it. Zuko had never let anyone do that before. Er-not counting healers. And even those only touched what had to be touched to heal.

She had been about to heal him, but she touched him there first. Hadn't even looked at the mark. The brand. It had hurt so badly when her happy monk hero had burst through the wall and taken her. And she had left. He had watched her go, and then turned his eyes away.

What had he been thinking? The water girl had been stalling.

Looking back, Zuko realized that wasn't so. Katara just wasn't like that. She would have healed him while he was still the enemy, and that was just so Katara that he had to smile at his reflection a little. He'd hurt her right after…but that was the past. They were okay now.

Two of his fingers trailed the lower edge of his scar, tracing.

What did she see? It was becoming an obsession now. Or, more accurately, a sort of insecurity and excitement at the same time. Did she even notice it now?

Obviously. It was a hard thing to miss.

But whenever she looked at his face, did she think it was ugly? Would she touch it again?

If she weren't still devoted to Aang, would she touch it with her lips?

The thought made him blush and freeze and fumble with the candle. He snuffed it quickly and stumbled back to bed to hide the redness beneath the sheet. He was tired and distracted. He shouldn't be thinking like this- not when Katara had already expressed her sentiments.

Yet when the scar was hidden in his pillow, and his thoughts were half-hidden with sleep…

Zuko wondered if that particular reason to smile thought he was handsome.


End file.
